Saturday, September 14, 2013
Dear readers, you know I don’t typically do book reviews, but I just couldn’t resist this one. The Kama Sutra Bath Book had me at “water.” After all, this is Sex and the Beach, right? Although I do write about stuff that’s more interesting than sex, yeah … whatever.
For those of you still stuck on the Mayflower in the 17th century, the original Kama Sutra is an ancient tome from India, a portion of which is devoted to sexual pleasure. Contrary to popular perception, much of it is also devoted to living in a state of grace and love, upholding family life.
Think of it like Martha Stewart meets 50 Shades of Chrysanthemums.
Well, you gotta have sex to have a family, right?
So behold, this little book, which easily fits into the palm of your six-foot tall, body-builder pool boy. It has a whopping eight pages of sexual positions you can try at home.
Now, let’s be fair here. One of the greatest signs of intimacy (and fun!) is being able to bathe or shower together. But getting frisky in the water is another thing. It’s slippery and wet and a bit more risky than doing it on your old, tired mattress.
Each page, illustrated by Nicole de Meneses, comes with (pardon the terrible pun) a rhyming couplet, in a goofy, Dr. Seuss style.
The book starts out with lotus pose – girl sits on guy as they hug each other -- which is easy enough in a tub. But there are other positions, like the hanging bow – man screwing woman while she does a full back bend with hands on the wet shower floor -- which even the most expert yogis shouldn’t try without a really good insurance policy and weeks of workouts at the gym. Make sure you turn the shower off before you attempt this pose, otherwise, the woman will get a good sinus neti pot cleaning as well.
And if he’s kissing your yoni blossom underwater (please google yoni if you don’t already know what that is … and no, it’s not a Cuban starch side dish with garlic sauce, that's yuca, not yoni) … then make sure he doesn’t drown.
Made of vinyl, the book, however, is a definitely a fun accessory for those watery, happy moments in your life with your beloved that don’t involve tears. It could inspire.
Here are my recommendations. Start simple: candles; luxurious, scented soaps; essential oils; a coconut shell full of scented Epsom salts; a rubber ducky; and if all else fails, a waterproof vibrator.
Or heck, well screw all that and how about just two bodies and 20 fingers?
And yourselves. That’s all you really need.
Oh, well wait ... you might want an anti-slip bath mat. And if you are over the age of 50, some handicap rails.
But I digress. Let's get back to simple. There’s nothing like shampooing your lover’s hair with a good scalp massage or kissing when it’s already steamy. If you live in South Florida and have a pool under the moonlight with the frogs serenading at night, fireflies providing mood lighting and gators screwing in the swamp nearby, well then … what are you waiting for?
Just make sure, ladies, that you take proper precautions regarding lubrication, safe sex and birth control. The only mammals that typically have sex in water are called cetaceans, a.k.a. whales and dolphins. They have blowholes. Yeah, I know, some of my ex-boyfriends had blowholes, too.
The Kama Sutra Bath Book is fun, cute and very amusing. It’d make a great bachelorette party or gag anniversary gift. And it will definitely get you thinking about positions whether in or out of the water. If you subject your body to CrossFit, you’ll probably make this part of your WOD.
Besides the hanky-panky, bathing with a beloved is definitely one of the most intimate thing a couple can do and for this it gets a thumbs up from Sex and the Beach. And hey, who says you need a partner? You know, when he’s not at home, wink, wink ... I’ll leave that to your imagination.
ANNOYING FTC DISCLOSURE
The publicist sent me a complimentary review copy of this book, bla bla bla. Please check with your doctor if you have an orgasm that lasts for more than four hours, etc;
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
12 years ago today, I was having lunch with a friend in Segovia, Spain -- the medieval city above a hill where an ancient Roman aqueduct still stands. One of the castles where Ferdinand and Isabella reigned also commands the skyline. It's here the merchant explorer Christopher Columbus may have made his plea to fund his voyage to the Indies.
A few hours before the first strike, I had been standing before the throne and thought: "Oh my, it's from this heavy, velvet chair that the order was given. America would eventually be discovered by Europeans. How far we've come in such a short amount of time."
Spain was silent, as in most small towns, during lunch time. We found ourselves in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant right next to the cathedral. Being Spain, though, the establishment had a TV -- soccer games, you know. Like many people around the world, we thought the news station was broadcasting a movie.
I walked up to the bar and there happened to be a U.S. expat sitting there. "It's real," he said. "No joke."
I don't know how I managed to finish my meal but I definitely slammed my wine. I wasn't able to think clearly for a couple of hours until my friend managed to buy me a phone card to dial home. I was shaking. I couldn't even press the dial pad on the public phone. Of course, all lines of communication were jammed busy.
I wouldn't be able to talk to family and friends for hours and it seemed like an eternity.
Walking among the silent cobblestoned streets of this fortress town while Spain was taking its siesta made me think of war. These ancient stones assuaged my anxiety. They also supported my precarious gait. "The stones are still here," I thought. "They're still here, in spite of the bloodshed, destruction and hatred that has lasted for eons among humans."
I knew that the ruins of the twin towers would only mean one thing. In the aftermath, the ruins would reveal the resilience of our people.
It took me two weeks to get home, not just because of some social commitments, but also because of flight issues. Oddly enough, I felt no fear during the 8-hour flight.
Since that fateful day, it's uncanny how many times I look at a clock and it reads 9:11. Mind you, I look at a clock many times during the day. But it's just bizarre how that number reappears in my sightline unintentionally, or perhaps intentionally.
Today is a reminder to find peace among the ruins of our lives, both personally and collectively as a nation.
Photo credit: t.bo79 on Flickr.